


Icarus

by simpnap (sageofsimping)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Arranged Marriage, Classical Music, Dancing, Fluff and Angst, Gentle Kissing, Internal Conflict, Kissing, Love at First Sight, M/M, Nobility, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Dancing, Waltzing, yes beta still died like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29102094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sageofsimping/pseuds/simpnap
Summary: “You know, the architects of this house would be pretty displeased with you right now,” A voice mused from Clay’s left. With a startled jump, he turned his eyes to the boy standing next to him. He stood much shorter than him, probably about 16 centimeters shorter than him, and his frame drowned in the large deep azure overcoat, trimmed with gold lace. The boy gave him a polite smile, his eyes squinted from how wide his smile grew, hiding the irises that mimicked the color of deep chocolate delicacies.“Why’s that,”Clay wasn’t sure why his hands twitched at his sides as he spoke, desperate for something to occupy them, but he did know that he nervously pressed them to the stone behind his back, locking them in their momentary prison.“Well, I’m sure they put a lot of thought and craftsmanship into each and every brick,” The words left the other’s lips like they were the gospel, filling Clay’s head with warmth. “And here you are, thinking you have to hold the wall up.”
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 87
Collections: MCYT





	Icarus

**Author's Note:**

> hi there! 
> 
> this is my first dnf fic ever and its the first fic i've posted online for people to read in a very long time so i hope you enjoy!
> 
> needless to say, if dream and george ever come out to say that they are uncomfortable with things like this being written about them, it will be removed immediately, no questions asked. be respectful of the content creator's boundaries!!

The clouds began to clear, allowing the illuminating light from the waning moon to gleam through the towering windows of the great hall, shining amongst the many inhabitants of the room. The ceiling soared far above the heads of dancing nobles, allowing the echo of arpeggios to lull the room into a comfortable meandering.

Clicks of heeled shoes, from both the men and the women, signified the co-mingling of families; young men from successful families approaching delicate young ladies in rather futile attempts to court them, everyone present aware that the future of their city depended on the correct combination of power that had been set years, maybe even decades, prior.

Even with such responsibilities weighing on them, they still danced.

Waltz after waltz, minuet after minuet. The string orchestra perched in the corner, leaning into each crescendo and melting with every pizzicato, the passion for their craft palpable.

Clay absently tapped the squared edge of his toe against the meticulously crafted floors, the wood sending soft noises to be drowned in cellos and violins. He pressed his back against the cold stone, the material stealing his heat greedily, causing shivers to shoot down his spine. But he remained steeled in his position.

His family had informed him a few days prior of the gathering that was to be hosted by the very well-off Davidsons, a family of great power and stature in Suffolk. The city was a fair distance away from his, the journey lasting nearly a day in carriage, but his father had stressed the importance of representing the family crest with honor by making himself known.

Now, here he was, pressing his damp hands against the soft velvet of his forest green justaucorps in an attempt to act natural, like he fit in with the other dancing bodies. While Clay’s family was rather well known, he wouldn’t say that he, himself, was. To most, they focused their attention on his eldest brother, the heir to the family’s estate if his parents were to pass. If his brother were here in his place, Clay knows for a fact that all eyes would be on him. His brother would prance around the room, waltzing and impressing, basically drowning in attention. His brother would see a girl he wanted, and he would get her.

So, why couldn’t Clay seem to find a girl he wanted?

His eyes flitted around the intimidatingly large space, his chest pounding in beat with each pluck of the violin, his heart rate matching each staccato. He examined the faces, all painted with similar rouge triangles on their cheeks, not a single one that made him want to pry himself from the warmth-stealing bricks.

“You know, the architects of this house would be pretty displeased with you right now,” A voice mused from Clay’s left. With a startled jump, he turned his eyes to the boy standing next to him. He stood much shorter than him, probably about 16 centimeters shorter than him, and his frame drowned in the large deep azure overcoat, trimmed with gold lace. The boy gave him a polite smile, his eyes squinted from how wide his smile grew, hiding the irises that mimicked the color of deep chocolate delicacies.

“Why’s that,”

Clay wasn’t sure why his hands twitched at his sides as he spoke, desperate for something to occupy them, but he did know that he nervously pressed them to the stone behind his back, locking them in their momentary prison.

“Well, I’m sure they put a lot of thought and craftsmanship into each and every brick,” The words left the other’s lips like they were the gospel, filling Clay’s head with warmth. “And here you are, thinking you have to hold the wall up.”

Clay laughs. And it’s obnoxiously loud. It knocks the wind from his chest, but most importantly, it echoes over the music, drawing eyes from dancing couples towards him. He shrinks back into the wall, his lip drawn nervously between his teeth as he silently apologized for the interruption. He didn’t like having the attention on him. He wasn’t his brother, after all.

“And who may you be, Atlas?”

“Atlas?” Clay questions, admiring the single defined curl on the other boy’s head that managed to separate from the others, tapping against his fair skin.

“Tasked with holding up the pillars that separate the heavens and earth.” He gestured to the gray stones behind them, allowing himself to smile again as the thought rattled around in Clay’s head.

_Well read_ , Clay thought, rolling his eyes at the laughter that came from the shorter man.

“I’m Clay,” he offered his hand.

“George,” Slowly, George slotted his smaller hand into Clay’s grasp. The cellos across the room crescendo to fill the room as their eyes locked, smiles creeping on to both of their faces as violins screeched out the starts of a waltz.

“George,” Clay hummed, “Well, now I guess I’m glad I came to this stupid party.” He huffed out.

“Ah, stupid party,” George smiled a bit, laughing as he pulled his hand back. “I’ll be sure to relay your message to my parents.”

His brother never would’ve insulted the host directly to his face.

Clay’s tongue dried up as he opened his mouth to apologize, finding himself unable to convey any emotions. He watches as the muddy eyes before him squeeze shut in laughter again, slowly untangling the knot that formed in his stomach. At least George didn’t seem upset.

“You’re George Davidson?” Clay managed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he remembered what his father had told him about their family before he made the journey here. The Davidson’s were the richest people in Suffolk, but more importantly, they owned the most land. They controlled a sizeable portion of the cities crop production, which they used to quickly rise to power as the most important people to the town. They had one son, so the entire family legacy rested with him. That was George, the small and rather attractive boy who stood beside him.

“The one and only.” He remarked, doing a small bow, obviously teasing Clay. He laughed again, not as loud as the first time, but still loud enough to draw a few wandering eyes. They all landed on George this time, a few of the couples breaking apart so the women could ‘casually’ walk past, hoping to grab his attention. Still, George’s eyes never left Clay. He felt himself heat up at the idea, his stomach rolling as he looked out over the sea of people again.

He was supposed to be out there. He was supposed to be making connections with women, to marry, to honor his family well. But the idea of leaving this wall suddenly made him sick.

“I-It’s a lovely party, really.” Clay tried to fix his past blunders, “I love the music.”

George’s lips curled upwards again, “It’s Bach.” He mused, humming softly along. Of course he knew.

“It’s quite lovely. Obviously, good choice to dance to.” Clay offered, gesturing with his head towards the waltzing couples.

“So why aren’t you?” He asks, studying Clay’s face as his smile drops, his teeth digging into his lip again.

Clay can’t fight the thought that builds up in his chest and clouds his mind, making him cringe to himself.

His brother would be dancing.

His brother would be connecting and finding a wife and making his family proud.

His brother was perfect.

But why wasn’t he? What was keeping him from prying himself from the cold stone that made his spine ache and wooing an available woman, from joining in the next minuet?

“I don’t fancy the crowd here,” Clay responded, hoping that his words were masked enough to not warrant any further explanation. He couldn’t bring himself to admit that he was appalled at the thought of touching, dancing with, or marrying a woman. That he would much rather take George’s hand and lead him to the center of the great hall, closer to the music, to study every pluck of the strings and to lead the shorter boy to every upbeat of the song. That he much preferred to lead a life that left God frowning upon him.

“I don’t either,” George agreed, “I’d much rather be retiring to my room to read some Socrates. Or Plato.”

Did George actually understand what Clay was skirting around?

“Why don’t you?”

“My gathering.” He hummed, “I can’t leave until everyone else has left.”

“Then why don’t you get out there and find someone to dance with? Time moves much quicker when you’re lost in song.”

“Like I said, I don’t fancy the crowd either.” He grinned, fiddling with the hem on his sleeve a bit before looking back up at Clay.

Oh.

He definitely understood.

“Oh,” Clay mumbled, his face heating up a deep red, standing out against the green of his coat. George laughed slightly, glancing out over the crowd once again. The two fell into a silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Clay felt safe. He allowed himself to seep into the quiet, his arms crossing over his chest as he shielded himself from the outside world. To him, it was just him and George. The music slowed as the tone shifted in the room, his chest heaving as he watched a young woman walk up to George.

“Hello George,” She offered politely, her voice shrill and piercing in Clay’s head. He wished it was George’s voice instead. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you since last year,”

“Abigail.” George said cheerily, reaching for her hand, which he then slowly brought up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles. “What a pleasure.”

Clay thought he was going to be sick.

“I’ve been hoping you would join me for a song tonight, but alas, you’ve yet to come find me.”

George laughed, the sound hollow in Clay’s ears now, “I was just making my way around the room. I have to stop by to speak with a few old colleagues first, but I swear, I will find you before the night ends.”

She giggles before being swept off by another gentleman, disappearing into the group of mingling couples. George sighs as he watches her leave, melting back against the wall, turning his eyes back to Clay who stood with his fists behind his back again and his face stoic.

“Sorry about that,” George said softly, “That’s Abigail. She’s… a family friend.”

Clay could sense the hesitation in his voice, the way his lips dipped down at the sound of her name, his jaw clenching as well.

“She seemed lovely.” Lovely. Clay had been using that word a lot more tonight.

“She is. Her family is the Hunters, over in Cornwall. I have been to her property a few times, it’s breathtaking.”

“I bet it is,” Clay adds coldly. George sighed again, pressing his lips into a line as he looked over Clay’s expression. The silence returned between the two, this time, the air biting bitterly at his nerves, every second they spend staring, shimmering emerald green eyes locked into the earthy brown ones below him.

Even though he barely knew George, he had already opened up to him. He already toed the line, playing with the fire that his words could produce. George had every right to just leave, go dance with Abigail, even for him to look down upon him to tell him off like he had heard one too many times before. But still he stayed.

“Clay,” George spoke, his voice sweet like honey as it dripped from his tongue. It sent shivers down his spine as he melted towards him. George was a flame. He was dangerous, something to keep away from. But his light flickered in such an entrancing manner, it drew Clay towards him.

He was bound to get burnt.

“George,” Clay mimicked, grinning as the shorter man grabbed the edge of his sleeve, his soft nimble fingers brushing against the back of his hand. It burned.

“Follow me.” He mumbled, lightly tugging on the velvet as he pushed himself from the wall, dropping the fabric as he walked away from Clay, peering over his shoulder to smile at him once more.

That was something Clay wanted to see more.

George stood before the crowd of oblivious dancers, the chamber music swirling through his head as he watched the man before him. He was waiting for him. The flames stoked, and suddenly, Clay was melting. George could sculpt him in any way he wanted, as if he were heated wax. He felt the flame flicker in his stomach as he shoved himself off the wall, absently following his host.

Slipping through the crowd, Clay stayed a few steps behind George the whole time, ignoring any eyes that managed to flit his way. He no longer cared who was looking at him. As long as he was looking at George. Like a moth to the flame.

The tall French style doors that framed the great hall led to a wide corridor, the faint light from the lanterns within the hall spilling out to light the way. As expected, the corridor was empty and endless, the next door many meters ahead of them. George slowed his pace to take his place next to Clay, rather than leading the way.

“Where are we going?”

George remained silent, simply gesturing towards a door, on the right side of the corridor, just before the end of the hall. He smiled upwards, his hand creeping over to pick at the green velvet once more.

The strings are still audible, just much fainter. More intimate. Like every note that was being played came from Clay’s heart and every beat of rest was George’s response.

As the couple approached the door, George reached out, pushing open the heavy wood with what looked like a bit of struggle. Clay smiled, but he didn’t bring it up.

Inside the door was a large library, the walls bearing floor to ceiling shelves, every inch full of books. The room smelled like paper, a strangely calming scent that took Clay back to when he was a child, and his mother would read to him each night. The middle of the room boasted a large desk, scattered papers covering the carefully designed woodwork.

“So this is where you learned about Atlas.” Clay joked, his tone light as his eyes continued to explore the room around them.

“And many other things, yes.” George said lightly, his fingers brushing against the spines of the books before him.

“You know the tale of Icarus?” Clay muses, turning to look more carefully at the frame before him. The smile that slipped onto George’s lips was intoxicating, he wished he could see that forever. It was a silent reply, but it urged Clay on none-the-less.

“I’ve been told many times before that I am similar to Icarus.”

“How so?” George murmured, his eyes locked on Clay’s, the green of the iris reminding him of a summer’s day from long ago, in the meadow, the grass on his feet as he picked flowers with his mother.

“Similar to Icarus, my desires heat me. I have a habit of seeing something I want and chasing it until I burn. Til I fall from grace. It’s easy to ignore common sense when there’s a flame to be reaching for.” Clay said carefully, his eyes glued to George, the strings screeching quietly from down the corridor. “A flame that burns so bright it scars.”

He remembers the first time he heard the name Icarus; it came in such a scornful tone from his father. A phrase that scorched his heart.

_“You are going to burn like the wax of Icarus’ wings. You’re toying with fire, Clay. And not even the Lord can bring you back from there.”_

Clay didn’t care if he was going to burn, just as long as George was the flame to do so.

Silently, Clay puts his hand out as he steps closer to George, so close he can feel the hot breath on his skin. George slides his palms into Clay’s again, just now taking note of how much smaller and fragile his hands seem in comparison, as he intertwined their strong fingers. He places his hand against Clay’s shoulder, drawing him in ever so slightly closer as he feels the heavy hand come to sit on his lower back.

Clay waits for the end of the previous phrase, letting the music shape their stance. As the violins strike the first note, he pulls George closer, their chests pressed together as they fluidly moved to the beat. He led the dance, his feet dictating where George’s would next be planted, but never once did their feet stammer.

“Do you know this song?” Clay whispered in George’s ear, a forbidden feeling of being so close, so intimate.

“Minuet in G major,” George breathed out, “Still Bach.”

Clay wants to make a jab, make fun of the fact that the orchestra only knows how to play Bach, but he refrains, carefully filtering his thoughts to not shatter the fragile intimacy between them.

The heat travels from their clasped hands, up Clay’s arms to singe his neck, leaving his throat hot and locked, the blood swelling in his chest as George looked up at him, his shimmering eyes lighting the match that swallowed him whole.

His wings were gone.

“I want the sun,” Clay whispers, leaning down to somewhat settle at a more even height between them. The centimeters of space between their lips were occupied with their breath, warm and comforting.

“Why don’t you get it?” George muttered in response. “I won’t let you fall.”

With that, Clay slips his hand from George’s weak grasp, quickly replacing it on his jaw, tilting his head back as he surged forward to close the space, their lips pressed softly against each other.

Clay finally held the heat in his hand, pressed firmly against his fingers and chest. Every inch of his body was ablaze, greedily stealing the heat from George’s lips. He was entranced, memorizing the softness of his lips, the way it tasted, the way his hands pressed against Clay’s chest as if using it to ground himself. He wanted to remember it all because he was sure it would be the last time.

Air no longer seemed necessary to George, not when he had Clay to keep him alive, to keep his heart beating. He tightened his fingers in the folds of Clay’s justaucorps, carefully guiding both of them safely to the ground.

The cello in the great hall just meters away struck a deep final chord as George pulled his lips away from Clay’s, subconsciously hoping Clay wouldn’t allow their separation.

“Hubris is a lovely thing, don’t you think?” Clay whispered, the knuckle on his right-hand tracing along George’s jawline before making it to its final destination; the soft chestnut curls that threatened to be unruly.

“A double-edged sword,” George hummed, leaning into Clay’s touch, reaching up to slot his fingers perfectly in the long blonde locks. “You’re going to end up falling one day.”

Clay chuckled, leaning down to initiate a second kiss, this one only lasting a moment, before George forced himself back. He cleared his throat slightly, his eyes leaving Clay for the first time since they locked themselves in this room.

“I have to go soon. To see Abigail.” George explained, making Clay’s stomach ache, turning and burning with every word.

“I don’t think I can bear leaving this room.” Clay muttered. He knew that as soon as they left the room, it was over. Their sins stayed visible only to God from this room. But the next time the wooden door would slide open, George would go find Abigail, and Clay would be alone again.

“We will meet again,” George promises, an empty promise with the sole purpose of steeling both of them enough to separate again.

“I’m sure we will,” Clay echoed the promise, his eyes squeezing shut, the flames threatening to scorch his brain beyond repair. “But it won’t be the same.”

“I know, Clay.”

“You have Abigail. And I have to return to my family,” Clay explained, “So, I probably won’t return to Suffolk for quite some time.”

George’s stomach sank, his hands clutching desperately at the back of Clay’s overcoat, holding them together for as long as he could, preventing Clay’s inevitable fall.

Then he let go.

As the wooden door creaked closed, George disappearing behind the thick oak, Clay watched as the sun fell from between his fingers. He began his plummet, a sure demise from such an incredible height. He glanced down at his hand, the same fingers that once held George’s heat, finally able to achieve what he wanted.

He wanted the sun. But he was a fool to believe it came without scars.

**Author's Note:**

> there it is!
> 
> i left the ending purposefully open-ended so that I could continue it later on in an additional post, so let me know if you'd like a continuation of this story! 
> 
> i love to read comments and appreciate all kinds of feedback. love y'all!!


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